


Matrimony and Dancing

by tree



Category: Northanger Abbey - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M, First Time, Married People in Love, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 22:12:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tree/pseuds/tree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And such is your definition of matrimony and dancing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matrimony and Dancing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foolishle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolishle/gifts).



So it was that Henry Tilney and Catherine Morland were married. Catherine had received very sensible instruction and advice from her mother about the mysteries of her wedding night, which both caught her imagination and made her blush. Despite having known one another for a twelvemonth, she and her new husband had spent much of that time apart. In the period immediately preceding their wedding, there had not been much occasion for them to be alone together, although they _had_ managed to steal moments for some very stirring kisses and embraces.

Still, apart from his hands and his face, Catherine had neither seen nor touched any part of her husband. She was both apprehensive and eager to do so in equal measure.

He had left her at the door to her rooms with a lingering kiss on her hand. "I shall come to you in half an hour," he said, and she could only smile tremulously and nod.

Now the maid had taken down her hair and brushed it so that it sat prettily across her shoulders. She was wearing the nightgown that had been a special gift of Mrs Allen, quite the most elegant and beautiful Catherine had ever seen. It was also somewhat more revealing than her usual sleeping attire. But then, she supposed, it was unlikely it would be much used for sleeping.

She watched the clock on the mantle tick away, equal parts impatient and unsure, until finally there was a soft knock at the door adjoining their rooms. Catherine pressed a hand to her fluttering stomach and called, "Come in," and there he was. 

In his nightclothes, Henry somehow seemed even taller than she remembered, and so very different than she was used to. She thought he looked a little flushed as he regarded her, but perhaps it was only the candlelight.

He walked toward her and held out his hand. The clasp steadied her and made him seem less of a stranger.

"Your hair is very pretty," he said softly. "I have never seen it down before."

"Oh," she said, touching it self-consciously. "It always tangles and is a terrible mess in the mornings. Even if I braid it before I go to sleep it somehow escapes during the night."

"I shall look forward to seeing that," he said with a smile.

"I-- yes," was all she could manage, as she finally, truly realised what this night meant. He had come to her bed to-- and then they would sleep, and in the morning he would be there. Perhaps every morning. He was her husband now and this would be part of their life together.

She was roused from this discovery by Henry saying, "Perhaps we should sit." He motioned to the small settee.

They sat close together and after a moment Catherine, feeling quite daring, rested her head against his shoulder. Immediately his arm came around her and settled lightly against her shoulder, making her sigh happily. "This is very agreeable," she said, looking up at her husband with a smile.

His dark eyes were serious as they regarded her. He touched her cheek gently, then tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Her skin tingled where his fingers had been and she unconsciously lifted her chin.

"Sweet Catherine," he murmured, as he bent his head to kiss her.

His hand tightened on her shoulder, drawing her closer, and she found herself gripping the fabric of his robe as a delicious, heavy feeling weighted her limbs. Then his hands were in her hair, cradling her head, and she leaned back against their support as his lips travelled from her mouth to her throat.

"Oh," she breathed as chills raced through her.

"Do you like that?" His voice seemed to come from very far away.

'Like' seemed such an insipid word for how she felt and Catherine could only manage a sort of hum in response.

His lips came back to hers and this kiss was somehow different than the others they'd shared. Dizzy and breathless, she could only press against him, needing to be as close as she possibly could. Gone was the languor of a moment ago and in its place a restless energy took hold. Her fingers slid inside his robe to feel the warmth of his chest through the thin fabric of his nightgown, then up to the bare skin of his neck.

Henry broke away from her and pressed his forehead against hers. They were both breathing quickly.

"This is not very much like dancing at all," Catherine said dreamily.

Henry let out a choked laugh. "I beg your pardon?"

"You did once try to convince me that marriage was very much like dancing."

"Ah, so I did. And you refused to be convinced."

"You _were_ only teasing me, after all. I did not really know at the time, but I am better acquainted with your odd ways now." She brought one of her hands up to touch his cheek, wondering as she did so if her touch had the same effect on him as his had on her. 

Henry clasped her hand and drew it to his lips, placing a kiss on her palm. "Perhaps it is only that you haven't enough experience of marriage to fully comprehend the genius of my argument." He began placing soft, lingering kisses on the inside of her wrist.

Holding his gaze and feeling very bold indeed, Catherine said, "Then perhaps it is time to further my experience." It came out as more of a question than she would have liked but the effect on her husband was unmistakeable. Somehow his eyes grew even darker and the flush she saw on his cheeks was certainly not a trick of the candlelight.

"You are sure?"

 _No_ , she thought. But he was her husband and she loved him, so what she said was, "Yes."

He rose, taking both of her hands in his so that she could not help but follow. His hands were warm and reassuring. She felt very shy and awkward as he walked backwards toward the bed, leading her, until he lifted her in his arms and spun her around before depositing her gently on the coverlet. He was grinning and looking rather pleased with himself, and she laughed and felt natural again.

"Sir, that was hardly dignified," she said as she got to her knees on the high mattress. "There. Now I am almost as tall as you."

"Indeed you are. As for dignified, I hope you will give me leave to be undignified from time to time when we are alone."

"Yes, of course," she said, laughing at his mock seriousness. "If you will do the same for me."

"It would be very ungracious of me not to."

She put her arms about his neck. "I do love you, Mr Tilney."

His face grew serious once more and he placed his hands at her waist. "And I love you, Mrs Tilney."

Her heart stuttered a little in her chest and she felt suddenly that some invisible boundary had been crossed from their old lives into this new one. Even more than the wedding ceremony in church where they had pledged themselves before God and family, here, now, they would pledge themselves to each other.

Without quite knowing what she did, Catherine leaned in and met Henry's mouth with her own. As they kissed, his hands slipped from her waist to fumble at the tie on his robe. He shrugged it from his shoulders and began working at her nightgown. He swept her hair aside and bent to kiss her bared shoulder, her collar bone, her throat. His hands moved from her back, to her hips, to her knees, where he gathered the folds of her nightgown and drew it up and over her head.

Catherine froze, feeling her cheeks burn, then tried to press herself against him. 

"Catherine," he whispered into her hair, "I want to look at you. There is nothing shameful here between us."

Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her cheeks and her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose. She smiled at the last.

Gathering her courage she moved herself a little away from him and said, "I want to look at you, too." She reached out with unsteady fingers and unfastened the ties of his shirt, then watched as Henry removed it completely. 

She put a hand out to touch above his heart and felt its rapid beating, almost as fast as her own. "You are not as pale as me," she said with some wonder, stroking the smooth skin of his chest. He was so very warm. She drew her hands down to his stomach, watching in fascination as the muscles flexed under her fingers. His body was so different from her own, yet so much the same. Finally she turned her gaze further down, to study the rest of him, her fingers following her eyes unconsciously.

She looked up as Henry quickly stilled both of her hands and drew them away.

"Is that wrong?" she asked.

"No, no, it's all right, just-- not yet."

"Then I may, later?"

Catherine thought he looked a little stunned and wondered if perhaps he was not quite so confident and sure as he appeared. Somehow that made her want to kiss him again. He did not seem to mind at all and soon she felt his hands come around her waist again.

His touch on her bare skin was strange and wonderful. With long, slow strokes he caressed her back all the way up into her hair and down again. Gooseflesh rose pleasantly in the wake of his warmth, tingling. When his touch moved feather-light across her stomach and ribs, her own exploration faltered, all her attention focussed on the path of his hands. She let out a soft gasp as he took her breast in his palm.

It was a sharp sensation, almost like a stab, somewhere deep inside of her. She felt it with every brush of his fingers against her nipple, like a pulse, like the thud of her heart, so keen it was almost painful. Again that sense of restless energy took hold of her, but with more urgency now. Her legs began to tremble and she thought for a moment she might fall.

"I think I ought to lie down," she said.

Henry's arm came around her and he lay her gently on the bed. She reached for his waist as he made to join her and he let out a strange noise and nearly fell off the bed. Catherine burst out laughing.

"Oh, dear, I am sorry. Are you all right?"

"I am a little ticklish."

"A little?"

He lay back against the pillow with a sigh. "Very ticklish. My brother amused himself by tormenting me for years."

Catherine immediately became contrite. "How awful," she said, laying her head on his shoulder and taking his hand. His other arm slipped underneath her and came around her back, holding her to him. As peaceful and comforting as their embrace was, after a few moments Catherine lifted her head, intending to continue where they had left off. 

She moved and he moved but they had not quite perfected their alignment because before their lips could meet their noses did.

"We are certainly better at dancing than this," grumbled Henry.

"Only because we have had more practice at one than the other," said Catherine. "Now hold still, please," she instructed, and, holding his head firmly in place with both hands, began to kiss him as he smiled against her mouth. 

Soon they were pressed together, nothing between them, one kiss blurring into another endlessly. Catherine felt herself moving, as though she were trying to get away, or trying to get nearer, she didn't know which, touching Henry everywhere she could reach.

He broke away at last and began kissing her throat again, her shoulders, the inside of her elbow, and finally her breasts. As his mouth closed over one nipple she arched up against him, stunned by the intensity of the feeling. For long minutes his mouth was at her breasts, each in turn, again and again.

Something very great and terrible was building inside her. She clung to Henry as he returned to her mouth, kissing him desperately, trying to show him without words everything she was feeling.

He shifted slightly to one side and then she felt his hand sliding over her hip and under her thigh. Everywhere he touched her skin seemed to come alive. She moved easily with him as he lifted her leg and bent her knee, making a small, high noise as she felt him against her more intimately.

"Are you afraid?" Henry asked, sounding breathless. "Do you want to stop?"

Catherine shook her head. How could there be any room for fear with this ache pulling and tearing at her?

He kissed her again and then she felt his fingers moving between her legs and he was touching her there, stroking and sliding. He was gentle, almost hesitant, and she wondered how he had learned--

"Oh!"

"Here? Like this?" Henry whispered, his fingers moving again in that same place, the feeling like lightning singing through her. 

She gripped his arm as it went on and on, intensifying, and she was arching into him and he was whispering to her and she was crying, "oh, oh," over and over again, and she couldn't stop, couldn't do anything but succumb to the swamping, impossible rush of pleasure, all her muscles tensing as though to run, but she couldn't, couldn't, and his fingers moving and suddenly it broke inside her like a wave and she was rising, surging, tumbling away.

She came back to herself slowly to find Henry stroking her hair. His eyes were a little wild. She smiled shyly at him, wondering if it would be terribly foolish to thank him. She settled on touching his dear face. "Is it always like that?" she asked.

His laugh was a little strained. "I hope it will be."

She bit her lip, unsure of the next part. "And now... will you..." She gave up helplessly.

"If you're ready."

"Oh, yes."

He kissed her again, very sweetly, and settled himself atop her fully. She liked the feeling of his body all against hers at once, the sensation both comforting and exciting.

He shifted slightly and she felt a strange pressure between her legs. It built, slowly, until it blossomed into pain -- not unbearable, but something like being stretched. Catherine tried to breathe slowly against it as her mother had told her, liking the idea of making room for him within her body. She bent her knees and that seemed to help as well, so that when Henry began to move in earnest, the feeling was not unpleasant. In fact, she began to feel a softer, less urgent echo of the sweet turmoil she had so recently felt; an urge to move with her husband as he moved.

"In a rhythm," she thought hazily. "Like dancing."

She reached up to push the hair back from Henry's brow and whispered, "I love you." At that moment he shuddered in her arms and his head dropped into the crook of her shoulder. He shook against her for long moments and finally let forth a long sigh and relaxed his full weight on her.

Catherine stroked his hair and listened to his breathing and his heartbeat slow. She would not be able to bear his weight upon her too long, but for the moment it was very pleasant to lie with him this way. 

Henry began placing tiny, tickling kisses at her collar and throat until she laughed, then he leaned up on his elbows to look down at her. 

"And are you well, Mrs Tilney?" he asked, with something softer and sweeter in his face than she had often seen.

"I am very well, thank you, Mr Tilney."

"I am pleased to hear it."

"And I was thinking, you know," she said, "perhaps you were right, after all." He looked at her enquiringly, his hair dishevelled and their bodies still joined. "Perhaps it is more like dancing than I thought. I know that this is not all there is to marriage, of course, but I think we have made a very good beginning."

**Author's Note:**

> The title and summary are, obviously, from Northanger Abbey.
> 
> Many, many thanks to sqbr, whose help was invaluable. Everything else is my fault.


End file.
